Service With A Smile
by ArixaBell
Summary: Canada loses a bet and must serve Russia and America. In his innocence, he misunderstands what they mean by "serve". Kink meme de-anon. AmeCan and RusCan.
1. Chapter 1

_Canada loses a bet and must serve Russia and America. In his innocence, he misunderstands what they mean by "serve". Kink meme de-anon. AmeCan and RusCan, there will be smut in the end._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

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><p>Canada held a carpet cleaner spray bottle in each hand, studying them like a man trying to choose between two engagement rings. After a long moment, he selected the one that was on sale and added it to his half-full shopping cart, returning the other to the shelf. He studied the contents of his cart, then glanced at his shopping list.<p>

A feather duster! He hadn't picked up one of those yet. Canada pushed the cart down to the next aisle of the supermarket's cleaning section.

He froze, blinking in surprise. "What are you doing here? The last meeting was two days ago."

"I could ask you the same thing," France said with a wink. Interestingly enough, he was also picking out a feather duster.

"I'm staying in New York for a while. Hanging out with America."

"Apparently doing a lot of cleaning." France peered into the shopping cart.

"Yeah, well, his place is messy..." No need to tell him _all_ the details. "Are you cleaning, too?"

"Oh, this?" He held up the duster. "Ah, no no! It is for a costume." France's grin widened. "If you are going to be cleaning, you should get one, too. You would look lovely in a French maid dress."

Canada smiled indulgently. "Thanks, France, but I'm not a girl." He selected a duster, and a few other things, before turning to go. "Have fun at your costume party."

"Ah... _merci."_

As Canada waited in line, he reflected on how he had ended up in this situation. A stupid hockey game, his team had been _ahead_, he thought for _sure_ he would win... So he and America had made a bet. America had decided that whoever would win would have to serve the other for a week. Russia had been there as well, and he wanted in, and since Canada had been so certain of victory he had agreed to the two-against-one thing. So Canada supposed, along with cleaning America's house, he would cook for both of them, fetch things for them, and other helpful tasks along those lines. Hopefully Russia wouldn't insist on having his own home cleaned, that was such a long trip just for a lost bet. Those two sure did seem excited about the whole thing, the way they kept winking and nudging each other and giggling. But it _was_ nice to have someone wait on you, Canada could understand their enthusiasm.

On the way home, Canada made another stop to pick up something to wear. He bought a nice black suit, and on a whim, a white apron. He may be a man and not wearing a maid dress, but the frilly apron _was_ cute, so he indulged.

And then he found himself at America's front door. He let himself in, because one thing America had taught him was that brothers don't need to knock. Humming, Canada set his bags of cleaning supplies down in the living room, rummaging through. He knew America had a vacuum cleaner somewhere, but he would probably have to rent a carpet shampooer. What to tackle first, though? As he pondered, the sun peeked in, illuminating the dust that coated absolutely everything. That answered that.

"Hey, you're here!" America hurried down the stairs, grinning, wearing only jeans and a tank top. "Glad you made it. And in costume, too!" He scratched his head. "Though why isn't it a dress?"

Canada rolled his eyes. The other nations were being especially dense today. "I'm not a girl."

"Er, I know, but..."

"We have been waiting for you." Russia joined the brothers, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. "This will be a fun day."

Canada wasn't sure if he would describe it as _fun_, but whatever. "Well, I'm gonna get started."

"You're just gonna jump right in and get to it, huh?" America winked.

"Well yes, it's going to take a while." Canada rolled his sleeves up.

"Oh? Think so?"

"Yes." Canada looked around at the expansive living room. His brother did not go for cozy little homes. "Yours is huge! This'll take forever."

America beamed, and Canada could have sworn he turned a bit red. "Gosh. Thanks, bro!"

Russia cleared his throat, and Canada was quick to compliment the nice place he had in Moscow. "And Russia's is even bigger!" Good thing he didn't have to go there and clean as well.

Their expressions swapped, and Russia was the one grinning, while America frowned. "So uh... you've seen Russia's...?"

"Of course." Canada tilted his head. What an odd thing to ask, all of the nations had been to each other's homes many times. "Hasn't everyone?"

Russia's smile fell. "What are you implying?"

"Well, go sit down." Canada made shooing motions toward them. "On the couch."

"The couch! Right!" Giggling, the two nations hurried over to sit on the plush sofa. They sure seemed to find something amusing! Maybe they had planted booby traps for Canada to find. He would have to keep an eye out for whoopee cushions and fake vomit.

Canada resumed digging in his bags, finding the bottle of maple syrup and being struck by a great idea. It was early still, may as well bring them a nice breakfast before getting down to the cleaning! If he was going to serve those two, he was going to do it right. Canada shuffled into the kitchen, automatically plucking out ingredients and pots and pans. The batter was whisked up, the pans heated and buttered, and soon he had several perfect circles cooking away. The uniform pancakes were layered on a plate one by one until he had an impressive stack. They were plated up along with a pair of glasses of juice, and it was time to serve.

First thing first, Canada set the bottle of syrup down on the coffee table. The duo on the couch eyed the bottle with broad grins.

"Maple syrup?" America expression brightened, like a kid on Christmas (which he still was, really, come holiday time). "Now we're talking! This is gonna be good."

Feeling pleased, Canada fetched the trays of food, carrying them out one at a time. "There you are. Breakfast!"

Their eyes landed on the trays. Their smiles seemed to grow strained. "Breakfast?" his southern brother said. "We're having breakfast?"

"That's right." Canada leaned closer to Russia. "Would you like a screwdriver?"

The large nation giggled, eyes sparkling. "That sounds delightful."

Canada picked up the other bottle he had brought, pouring some of its clear contents into Russia's orange juice. "There. I know how you love your vodka."

"Ahh." Russia stared into the glass. "Yes. That is a screwdriver. Thank you."

They began to eat, and Canada returned to the kitchen, feeling pleased. So far so good! He got to work cleaning up the dirty pans, humming another tune. He supposed this wasn't all that bad for a lost bet, really.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

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><p>"Nice babushka."<p>

Canada jerked upright with a little scream at the sudden voice that materialized behind him. "Wh-what?"

Russia stepped in front of him, smiling apologetically. "I did not mean to startle you. And I refer to this." He touched Canada's head.

"Ohh. The kerchief." Well, he had wanted to keep his hair out of the way while he cleaned. "Thanks." Canada resumed what he had been doing before he was interrupted: plugging in the vacuum cleaner. "There! Could you move your feet?"

Russia stared in what appeared to be utter bafflement for a moment, before stepping aside. "You really are just vacuuming?"

"That's right." Canada flipped the on switch, and the machine roared to life. "Gotta have nice clean floors!"

"Oh." Russia's eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face. "Ohh. The floors need to be clean. Yes, I understand. Carry on." He walked away, still grinning happily, and Canada shook his head. Those two were a couple of big kids! He pushed the vacuum along the floor, nodding in satisfaction at the cleanliness it left in its wake.

He was just reaching for the attachments to tackle under the couch when America showed up, watching with a grin.

"Yes?" Canada had to raise his voice over the noise.

"The floors, huh?"

"Right." He got down on hands and knees, and America came to stand behind him. "What?"

"I wouldn't have figured you for a floor man."

"Oh. Well, I am." Canada appreciated nice clean floors. Even if the rest of his house could use some work, as long as the carpet wasn't filthy he could live with it.

"It's a nice view from here."

"Thank you." At least America appreciated the clean carpet.

"But really, I'd have figured you for... you know, someone who went for the bed first."

"Well, I usually am." After all, making the bed was the first thing one did after getting up in the morning.

"Thought so. So, uh..."

"Hm?" Canada wrinkled his nose at the dust bunnies and cobwebs the vacuum was sucking up under the couch. Disgusting.

"Maybe later... um... maybe the kitchen table...?"

"Of course!"

"Thanks!"

Canada stood, brushing his knees off. "We'll be doing it everywhere."

"Wow." America was almost bouncing with excitement.

"Go on, now. You're in the way."

America shook his head, sighing, excitement fading. "How much longer...?"

Canada pushed the vacuum forward, waiting patiently for his brother to take the hint and move. "Until what?"

"Until the _good stuff_!" America ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, I really appreciate all the dusting you did yesterday. And cooking our meals for us. And _sleeping in the guest room_. But... you know..."

"I'm here for a week!" Canada tugged on the cord, trying to undo a twisty knot. "Be patient, okay?"

His brother pouted. "Fine..."

"Go on, go do something."

"Fine... But come entertain us soon, okay?"

"After I'm done vacuuming this floor." So that was what America was whining about? He was bored and wanted entertainment? Canada shook his head and chuckled to himself as his twin scurried off. Such a kid.

Once he finished vacuuming (the downstairs, at least), Canada discovered a dusty spot he had missed yesterday, so he attacked that. And then he discovered a stain that needed scrubbing, then the dryer buzzed and clothes needed folding. By the time he remembered his promise, another couple hours had passed.

America and Russia were playing cards, eyes drooping in boredom. Were they so incapable of entertaining themselves? Well, Canada had said he would help. "All right, what do you want to do?"

They visibly brightened. "It's about time!" America gave a thumb's up. "I thought you'd never get to it, it's past lunch time already-"

"It is?" Canada gasped, eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. One thirty. It was!

"Um. Yes, but that's not-"

"I am _so_ sorry!"

"Oh, it's really okay, we-"

Canada hurried off to the kitchen, feeling like an idiot. He had gotten so caught up in random chores, he had forgotten about lunch! Well, no time for anything fancy, they were probably starving. Canada tugged open the freezer and peered inside. TV dinners, ice cream, frozen peas, frozen fries... That would do. He plucked the fries out, juggling the icy cold bag between his hands before setting it on the counter. He fetched a can of gravy from the cupboard, then hunted in the fridge for cheese. America didn't keep curds stocked, but grated would do. A bit of quick preparation later, Canada brought lunch out to the poor neglected nations.

"Thank you," America said.

Russia nodded his agreement, staring at the concoction on his plate. "England has ruined both of you."

"What's that supposed to mean, commie?"

Canada quickly left, not wanting to listen to them fight. He ate his own lunch in the kitchen, then cleaned up. He could still hear them arguing, though they didn't seem to be yelling at each other. He even heard his own name many times.

When he ventured back out to retrieve their plates, America stopped him.

"What is it?"

America gave a strained smile. "You promised to entertain us."

"Ah, yes! Now that we've eaten, let's do that. Um..." He turned his back on the pair, getting down on all fours.

"Now that's more like it."

Canada smiled, fetching the game controllers from where they were stashed in the entertainment system. "Let's see. Racing game, fighting game, sports...?"

There was a long silence behind him as they pondered. Finally, in a low voice, Russia said, "Canada. Enough of this. Get your ass over here."

Canada swallowed. Was he in trouble? What had he done? After all he had done for them... Well, he would give those ingrates a piece of his mind. But first he would see what was bothering them, because he hated it when others were unhappy with him. Canada stood and turned to face the annoyed nations, forcing a smile. He'd make things right.


	3. Chapter 3

_The third and final chapter. Thanks for reading! :D  
><em>

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

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><p>"Canada..." Russia leaned forward, resting his chin against his folded hands. His cool expression seemed to soften as he studied Canada's earnest smile. "Were you planning on cleaning and cooking for the entire week?"<p>

Canada blinked at the pair. "Yes, of course. Though if you want me to entertain you, I don't mind playing games with you or something, since the deal was-"

"That's not what the deal was for!" America crossed his arms, huffing. "Not at all. How could you have misinterpreted it?"

"You were vague," Russia said to him.

"It was perfectly understandable! Russia, if I told you to service me, what would you do?"

Russia smiled pleasantly. "I would tell you to go to hell."

"Oh. Well, yes, right. And if I said I wanted to service you?"

"In that case, I would take my pants off and tell you to get on your knees."

"Yes! Thank you."

Canada stared at them. But if they did that, they would be... they would... ohh... "You want me to perform fellatio on you?"

Russia nodded. "Yes. Among other things. That was... Why are you laughing?"

America was shaking with barely suppressed mirth. "I'm sorry! I don't think I've ever heard anyone casually call it 'fellatio' before."

"You are an idiot." The large nation turned back to Canada. "But yes. That was the idea for this week."

Canada could only gape. _That_ was what they had wanted all along? Not cleaning or anything, but... sex...? A week of sex for a lost hockey game? _Oh!_ _I agreed to the kitchen table! I agreed to everywhere!_ "I... I didn't realize..." He felt his face grow hot. They weren't a couple of big kids, they were a couple of perverts!

"Excuse us a moment," Russia said. Canada backed away, and the pair of degenerates huddled close together to hold a whispered discussion. He didn't overhear anything interesting, just the occasional "Yeah, but..." and "I know, but..."

"Just stop your whispering," Canada muttered, staring at the floor, face still aflame. "I'll do it."

"Um." They slowly turned to look at him. "What?"

"You heard me." Canada hunched his shoulders. "But know that I will forever think of you as a couple of filthy perverts who are worse than... er... the same as France."

"We understand," America said, and Russia nodded.

Canada waited patiently for them to apologize, to say that their deal was forfeit since he hadn't really known what he was agreeing to, to laugh and say it was a joke... They just stared expectantly at him, and he sighed. "Do I have to get naked?" He reached behind his back to untie the apron.

"Wait!" America held a hand out. "I mean... yes, but leave the apron on."

"And the kerchief," Russia said.

Canada eyed them, but managed to tug his clothes off without removing the apron. His shirt messed up the kerchief, but he straightened it back out.

"Underwear, brother dear."

Face burning hotter, Canada dragged his boxers off. Well... he supposed he was glad they wanted him to keep the apron on.

"Maple leaf boxers?" Russia smiled. "You are very fond of that plant."

Canada sputtered. "I bet yours have sunflowers on them."

"Would you like to see?"

"Th-that's not what I meant!"

"Hold on a sec," America said. He stood, shuffling around behind Canada. "Nice! Come look, Russia."

While Canada waited to die, Russia joined America behind him. "Oh yes. Very nice."

"I told ya!"

"What are you so impressed about? You are twins."

"That doesn't mean everything looks the same. … I don't think. Does it?"

There was the sound of a zipper, then clothing rustling. After a long silent moment, Russia said, "Hmm, yes, they do look alike."

"Really?" America said. "We have the same butt?"

"Very similar. You never noticed in the last few hundred years?"

"I don't spend a lot of time looking at my own ass! Or his. We haven't bathed together since we were colonies."

"Can we get on with it?" Canada said.

"Hey, we've got all week!" But America plopped back down on the couch, pants still unfastened, showing off his happy face boxers. He gestured to his crotch. "C'mon, get Ol' Glory out!"

Canada gaped. "Y-you name it after your flag?"

"It's a good name. What do you call yours?"

"I do not name my penis!"

"For goodness sake, bro! It's a dick, a cock, your junk..."

Russia rubbed his chin. "I thought 'junk' referred to penis and testicles together."

"Oh, not you, too!"

Canada firmly ignored them. He knelt down in front of his brother and took a deep breath, then reached into his boxers to tug his erection out. America relaxed back into the cushions with a long sigh of pleasure. Geez, he was already hard...

"You get his mouth first?" Russia said, sounding rather unhappy.

"It was my idea! You joined the bet later."

"You were too stupid to get the point of the bet across."

"Doesn't matter."

"Very well then." His voice suddenly became pleased. "Then I get him from behind first."

"What?" America scowled. "Nooo way."

"Yes way~" Russia sing-songed.

"You're too damn big! I don't want your sloppy seconds."

"Just sh-shut up and do it," Canada mumbled, trying to pretend he wasn't kneeling there in nothing but an apron, his brother's penis—_cock_ in hand, Russia behind him, and being called somebody's _sloppy seconds_.

"Up," Russia said, and suddenly his large hands were on Canada's hips, their coolness sending a shiver up his spine. He guided Canada onto his hands and knees. Canada grabbed a cushion to kneel on, not particularly thrilled at the thought of rug burns on his knees.

"Just be careful." America glared over Canada. "I don't want him to bite me or something."

"I cannot help it if I am just that good."

"I mean it! If he bites me, I'm blaming you, and totally nuking the hell out of Moscow."

"Do not say that. He will bite you on purpose, knowing there are no repercussions for him."

"Fine. If he bites me, Moscow _and_ Ottawa are toast."

Canada rolled his eyes. He stared down at the organ in his hand, sighing again. He leaned closer and poked his tongue out to give a tentative lick. Judging by the noise his brother made, he enjoyed that, so Canada repeated the action, drawing it out longer.

He paused when he felt Russia's hands on his behind. He didn't particularly want to start World War III, so he continued to give America the ice cream cone treatment. He would wait to do anything further until after Russia had... after he... yeah. Canada blushed again just thinking about it.

Russia must have found lubricant somewhere, as the finger he traced downward was quite slippery. It circled his entrance, and Canada shivered.

"You are sure he has done this before?" Russia said doubtfully.

America opened his eyes. "I'm sure! We're totally bros, we talk about stuff like that."

Canada could feel the blush reaching his shoulders. He wished they wouldn't speak. "I have," he mumbled, to set Russia's mind at ease. He wasn't sure where America had heard about that, but it had not been from Canada.

"Good." The finger pushed inward, and Canada gasped. He noticed his brother start to pout, so he gave him another long lick, shivering as Russia's finger probed around inside him. Another slipped in, stretching him, making it hard to concentrate on pleasing his impatient twin. Closing his eyes, Canada slid his tongue over the head of America's cock, lapped at the slit, feeling utterly wanton.

"You are enjoying this," Russia said, pressing in another finger. Canada honestly wasn't sure which brother he was speaking to. He grimaced at the burn of being stretched, and every time he paused, America's hand on his head reminded him of his task.

The fingers withdrew, and Canada shivered again. He somehow managed to blush deeper as he again reflected on his situation.

"You're really red there, bro," America said, but went ignored.

Canada took a deep breath and forced himself to relax when he felt the blunt head of Russia's cock press against him. America's hand on his head was gentle as it combed through his hair, soothing him as the large organ pushed into his body. Canada breathed deeply through his nose as he was filled.

The things he did for hockey.

"Very nice," Russia was murmuring as he gently pressed in deeper. "Feels good." And some other random phrases in his own language.

When Canada decided he wasn't going to suddenly bite anything he shouldn't, he resumed licking his brother. After another deep breath, he sucked the head into his mouth. America made gasps and mewls of pleasure as Canada lapped at the underside and suckled gently.

Russia drew out and thrust back in, startling Canada, forcing his body forward and America's cock deeper. He felt a moment of panic as he gagged slightly, but firmly told himself America would not appreciate secondhand poutine on his genitals, and got his gag reflex under control. Russia thrust again, and Canada gave a muffled moan.

"Ah... see?" America said with a groan. "I told you he'd enjoy it."

Canada whimpered, wanting to sink into the floor and disappear. Now they thought he was a whore! Never mind that he had two cocks inside him and it kind of did feel good... Well, Russia's did, he couldn't very well say the one in his mouth felt _good_, and... Russia thrust again and hit _that spot_ and Canada's train of thought completely derailed. His concern about his appearance and reputation diminished as pleasure washed through him, and he moaned without (much) shame around America's cock.

He worked his mouth as best he could, suckling and swallowing around America. He didn't even have to worry about moving his head too much, the movements of Russia and America's hips doing that for him. The three of them set up a steady pace together, as well as created a symphony of sound with their moans and cries.

Then Russia's hand wrapped around his cock underneath the apron and Canada saw stars. Even if his jaw ached, his straining, leaking erection was being gripped and stroked, and Russia's big cock was sliding in and out of him, filling him completely, rubbing against his prostate. Canada had never felt anything so incredible.

"N-no fair," America gasped. "You get his ass _and_ his dick first?"

"That is right."

"Yeah, well... his mouth is awesome. Sucks to be you."

"Oh yes. Poor me, how I suffer. A-ah..."

Russia gave a particularly hard thrust, squeezing Canada's cock, and it was just too much. Canada groaned and whimpered as he came all over Russia's hand, the apron, himself, and the cushion beneath him. He trembled as the large hand milked out every last drop.

"Th-that is nice," Russia said, removing his hand. "So tight."

Sagging weakly, Canada remembered that he was neglecting his duties. He drew back, suckling as he went, lapping again at the head when it left his mouth. America made interesting noises as Canada took his cock in again, swallowing it completely.

Behind him came a low, rumbling groan. He felt Russia's thick cock twitch, and then he was filled with sticky warmth. Russia continued to thrust shallowly as his semen continued to spill out deep within Canada, then finally pulled out.

America followed not long later, and though he choked a bit, Canada managed to swallow every drop.

It wasn't until all the tingling had faded and his pulse had calmed down that Canada was again overwhelmed by what they had done, and he curled up in a very red-faced ball.

"Wow," America panted from where he was collapsed on the couch. "And that was just the first, vanilla round."

Russia grunted in agreement, kneeling on the floor still. "Five more days."

"We'll have to get creative!"

Canada's entire body burned with embarrassment. God, he _was_ a whore! Every end of his body throbbed, and he was laying in his own...

"Oh." America brightened as Canada removed the apron. "Are you ready for more so soon? No offense, bro, but... uh... you don't look ready."

"I just cleaned this place," Canada said. "Now it's dirty again! I'm going to toss this in the laundry, then scrub that cushion, then take a bath."

"Then what will you wear?" Russia asked.

"I have a maid outfit," America said. "A dress. It has a short skirt..."

Canada groaned. The maid dress again... "Why do you have that?"

"It was a gift."

"Is your tub big enough for three?" Russia asked.

"Maybe if the third was China. Not you."

"Then we will need to compete. Winner bathes with him."

"I can really bathe myself..." Canada said.

America ignored him. "You're on!"

"The loser can have him first in his maid dress."

"Wait, then maybe I don't want to win..."

"Um, guys...?" Canada squeaked.

Russia was rubbing his chin. "Do you still have those restraints?"

"Yup!"

"Guys?"

"Excellent. I have brought many toys."

Canada had a sinking feeling Russia didn't mean teddy bears and kites.

"Awesome! Okay, a round of video games will determine the bath winner."

"I have brought Tetris."

"Hell no, you cheat!"

"I do not."

Canada fled from the room, stained apron held tightly in his arms. Geez. The things he did for hockey.


End file.
